


Users Get Viruses Too

by dicklomatticimmunity



Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 09:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicklomatticimmunity/pseuds/dicklomatticimmunity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://tronkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3162.html?thread=1795418#t1795418">this prompt</a> at the TRON kinkmeme. <i>So a program's been brought into the real world and everything's fine, living amongst the humans, becoming human itself, all well and good. They're adjusting well until they come down with a human flu/cold/stomach bug and are distraught/confused OH USER I'M DYING.</i></p><p>Published to LJ on April 18, 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam cringes as his phone vibrates in his pocket. It has to be at least the twelfth time it's gone off in the past ten minutes, and it earns him even more dirty looks from those seated closest to him than it did the last time it went off. For once, he's actually trying to pay attention as Alan goes over company stakes in other countries, but he keeps getting distracted because his phone _won't stop vibrating_ and it's annoying him. Who the hell wants him so urgently that isn't seated in the conference room with him, anyway?

His phone vibrates again and he can't take it anymore. He gets up in a rush, mutters, "excuse me," as he walks past the other executives, and makes his way to the door. He avoids looking at Alan as he exits the room, knowing the chairman doesn't like to be interrupted but not caring at the moment because he has a feeling that whoever this caller is, they're not going to stop until he makes them stop.

When he's finally in the hallway, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and glares down at it before sliding a thumb over the touch screen. If it's some executive in India trying to persuade him back into the deal Encom nearly had last week, he's going to be angry because that deal was over with and --

He's surprised to find a long list of text messages from Quorra. His anger vanishes, turning to a mix of surprise and worry. He had told Quorra to only use his number in emergencies, and while his definition of 'emergency' doesn't match Quorra's quite as exactly as he hoped, he can't stop himself from worrying every time she contacts him.

He scrolls down to the bottom of the list of messages and opens the first one.

_Something is wrong with Tron! He says he thinks he's dying!_

Sam frowns and pinches the bridge of his nose. Quorra's message is vague at best, but he's not there to inquire further either. Adjusting to the user world had taken a little time for both Tron and Quorra, and something 'being wrong with Tron' could be as little as Tron having a mosquito bite.

It could also be more serious than that. Sam opens the next message.

_Sam, Tron isn't getting any better. He feels tired and won't move off the couch. What should I do?_

That makes Sam worry. Tron is very active, and it takes a lot to exhaust the former security program. His phone vibrates again, and he ignores the message alert as he opens a third message.

_Tron doesn't sound like himself. His voice sounds weird. I don't know what to do! Help!_

Sam groans and rubs his forehead. Tron is sick, it appears, but with what, he isn't sure, and the only way to find out is to go home. He looks behind him at the conference room door, and he debates going back in when his phone vibrates again, displaying a new message alert -- a new text from Quorra.

Tron needs him, and simply calling Quorra and telling her that everything will be okay won't be sufficient. He decides that Alan will just have to deal as he opens the door to the stairs and descends them rapidly, heading for the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam pulls in to his place and kills the engine as the garage-style door closes behind him. He dismounts his bike and removes his helmet, placing it on the seat of the bike in time to see Quorra running towards him, panic in her expression.

"Sam!" she cries. "You got my messages!"

"Yeah, I got them," Sam says. He begins to head for the couch, but he stops halfway there, sniffing the air. The smell of burnt soup grabs his attention, and he turns towards the kitchen and wrinkles his nose in disgust, the added tinge of metal making the smell all the more unpleasant.

"Oh," Quorra says sheepishly, wringing her hands together and hunching her shoulders as she looks down. "I tried to cook some chicken noodle soup for Tron. I read somewhere that it's what users give other users when they're sick." She looks back up at Sam. "It... didn't go so well."

"Don't worry about it," Sam says, returning briefly to the door to open it and let his place ventilate. He then heads for the couch, knowing the program is there because he can see the back of Tron's head over the top of the couch. He walks around in front of it and pauses to look Tron over.

Oh. _This_ was what Quorra meant.

Tron looks absolutely miserable. He's curled up in a blanket, shivering beneath it. His eyes are irritated and water easily, and Sam irrationally wants to reach out and wipe the misery away. Tron must be suffering something awful to be sitting here like this.

"I think I'm dying," Tron says. His voice is hoarse and not at all like his own.

"No, you're not dying," Sam says calmly as he leans forward and puts his hand to Tron's forehead. Tron's skin is warm to the touch, abnormally so, and he knows that Tron must be running a fever. "How do you feel?"

"Everything hurts," Tron says, sniffling a little. "My head especially. There's a liquid that drips from my nose, and -- am I derezzing? Is that liquid part of _me_?"

"No Tron, you're not derezzing," Sam soothes. He reaches behind him for the box of kleenex -- one Quorra must have put there because he doesn't remember it being there before he came home -- and wipes at Tron's nose, clearing the area of the gunk dripping towards Tron's lip. He tosses the kleenex into a nearby trash bin -- something else Quorra must have moved there -- and looks at Tron. He runs a hand through the former program's hair.

"M' going to go upstairs and grab a few things, okay? I'll be right back." He kicks off his shoes as he heads for the ladder to the second floor. Once upstairs, he enters the bathroom at the end of the hallway and opens the cabinet. He finds what he needs and stuffs the items in his pockets before heading back downstairs.

"Is there anything I can do, Sam?" Quorra asks, looking up at him with wide eyes as he descends the ladder.

Sam pauses to think about that. Cooking is not Quorra's strong point at the moment, he decides. He looks around him as he steps off the ladder, and he spots what he's looking for near the kitchen sink.

"See that green container over there?" he says, pointing at it. Quorra nods. "There are large wipes -- kind of like mini-towels -- in it. They've got bleach on them. Take one or two and wipe down every surface we've touched over the past two days."

As Quorra picks up the container of wipes, Sam heads back over to Tron and removes a long, plastic object from his pocket. He removes the casing from it and pushes a green button before holding it up in front of Tron.

"Open your mouth and hold this under your tongue," he asks. He waits until Tron obliges, and Sam slips the thermometer beneath the program's tongue. He then takes a washcloth from his pocket and goes over to the sink and saturates it with water. He wrings out the excess and walks back over to the sofa and sits down next to Tron, placing the cold cloth over the program's forehead and holding it there.

Tron frowns at him, eyes trying to look up curiously at the cloth. He has no idea what's going on or how this plastic stick -- or that wet cloth -- is supposed to help.

"Whath happening thoo me?" Tron asks, his speech somewhat garbled by the thermometer sticking out of his mouth.

Sam has a feeling he knows what's wrong, but wording it in a way that won't cause the program to panic is tricky. He bites his lip before deciding, the hell, Tron might as well know.

"I think you might have a user virus called the flu," Sam says gently.

"User virusth?" Tron asks, eyes widening in horror. "Userth get virusesth?" It's uncomfortable talking with this plastic thing in his mouth.

"Wait until the thermometer is done," Sam says as he strokes the brunet's hair. "But yeah, they do. There's a whole bunch of user viruses."

Tron nods and waits. The thermometer beeps moments later, and Sam pulls the object from Tron's mouth. He turns it and reads the small display while Tron leans over curiously to look at it.

"One hundred one," Sam says as he puts the thermometer on the coffee table. He would clean it later. "That's common with the flu. Hopefully it won't go any higher than that."

"Users also have antivirus, right?" Tron asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Well, sort of." Sam tries to think of what he wants to say in terms that would make it easiest for Tron to understand him. "It's not called antivirus, though. Users refer to it as the immune system. It fights a whole bunch of things, not just viruses."

"So why am I not better yet?" Tron frowns, not understanding.

"Uhm -- well," Sam stammers. He laughs gently. "User viruses don't go away easily. Sometimes the immune system needs a little extra help -- medicine from a doctor -- to make the virus go away faster." It's beginning to dawn on Sam that he should probably take Tron to a doctor because he has no idea how capable Tron's immune system is.

"Can you upgrade my immune system, Sam?" Tron's face visibly brightens at the idea.

Sam can't help it. He smiles and wraps his arms around the former program, ignoring the washcloth as it falls onto his shoulder.

"Oh, Tron," Sam sighs. "This is really hitting you hard, isn't it?" He places a gentle kiss on Tron's forehead, where the skin is still warm despite the dampness of the washcloth. He reapplies the cloth, holding it to the program's forehead. "Users don't really work like that. Immune systems can't be upgraded. You're stuck with the one you have."

Tron's face falls as he looks down. This would be an easy fix in the Grid. If users were so powerful, why were they so easily afflicted by simple viruses?

"Hey," Sam runs a thumb over Tron's cheek down to his chin, gently encouraging the program to look up at him. "You're going to be okay. I've had the flu before, and I'm still here. Lots of users get the flu and recover from it." He's pretty sure what Tron has is the flu, but he could be wrong.

Tron looks up at him, still frowning, but at least he doesn't look at crestfallen as he did before.

"You said that hopefully my temperature won't go above one hundred one. What if it does?" Tron asks, looking miserable again.

"It won't," Sam assures Tron. "Let me call Alan. We'll get you to a doctor so we can get you some antivirals -- I mean, medicine that helps the immune system fight viruses like the flu. Just hold the cloth against your forehead, okay?" Tron nods and puts his hand over the cloth. Their fingertips brush before Sam pulls away and gets up, pulling his phone from his pocket as he heads for the patio.

His phone vibrates almost as soon as his thumb slides over the screen, and a message from Alan pops up.

_Are you coming back?_

Absolutely not, Sam thinks as his fingers move over the screen. _Dude, Tron is ill. Quorra flipped out -- she sent me over thirty texts. That's why my phone was vibrating. I had to go home. Do you need me at the meeting?_

Sam waits. Alan responds quickly enough.

_Tron is ill?! What do you mean?_

_He has the flu_ , Sam replies.

_The flu?! We need to get him to a doctor. I'll end this meeting now and come right over_ , is Alan's response.

_Dude, I've got this. Finish the meeting and we'll take him to the doctor after, okay?_ Sam can sense the panic in Alan's words. He doesn't blame Alan -- it's his former program, after all -- but he can't help but think that Alan is taking this a little too seriously.

Sam then remembers how Alan took _him_ to the doctor once when all he had was a cold. A new message pops up, and it goes almost as Sam imagined it would.

_Take his temperature. Give him Tylenol. Put a washcloth on his head. Make sure he drinks a lot of water. The rest of the meeting shouldn't take long_ , Alan responds.

_I've got it taken care of. We'll be waiting._

_Thanks for taking care of Tron. I'll be there soon._

Sam doesn't need the thanks, really; he's been Tron's boyfriend for the past two months, but he accepts the fatherly praise for what it is. He pockets his phone and walks back over to the couch and sits down.

Tron leans his head at an angle over Sam's shoulder, the washcloth slipping a little as he does so. Sam rearranges the cloth and can't help but put an arm around the former program as he kisses Tron's temple.

"You're gonna be okay, man," Sam says, trying to comfort the program.

Tron looks at Sam as if to say _you've got to be kidding_ , but rests his head against Sam's shoulder again and closes his eyes, resigning himself for now.

Sam decides to check the rest of the messages Quorra left him. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and moves his thumb over the screen again, and then he opens the fourth message with the intention of reading all of the ones after it.

_I'm making him some chicken noodle soup. Is this the right thing to do?_

_Sam, I can't find a pot the right size for this. Is it okay to use one larger than what the directions calls for_

_Tron looks 'green,' I think is the word users use. What should I do?_

_Tron is getting worse, I think. Where are you?_

_Sam, help!_

_Should I look this up on the internet? What should I be looking up?_

Sam finishes reading the rest of the messages. He puts his phone on the table when he's done and sits back, arm still around Tron's shoulders as he waits for Alan to come pick them up.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam wakes up the next day, and he swears he has never felt more miserable in his life.

His head hurts. His knees hurt. Hell, his _eyes_ hurt. What the fuck is up with that?

He slowly makes his way to the bathroom. After he's done his business, he decides to look at himself in the mirror, wondering if he looks as bad as he feels.

_Oh hell_. His eyes are watering and look irritated, just like Tron's did the previous day. His boyfriend got him sick, and now _he's_ going to be the one who's a miserable grump all day.

Grudgingly, he goes back to his bed and flops down on it. The movement is enough to stir Tron, who is lying down next to him. He sinks his face into the pillow and tries to wish the pain away.

Tron turns onto his side and looks at Sam. He notices that Sam has his back to him. He moves closer so he can whisper in Sam's ear.

"Sam," he says, voice still sounding off but not as bad as it was the previous day. "You okay?" It's unusual for Sam to get back in bed like this after getting up. Besides, Tron notices with a glance at the alarm clock, Sam only has half an hour to get to work.

"M'fine," Sam says grouchily, his voice hoarse. He coughs and pulls the sheet tighter around him.

Tron frowns. He wraps an arm around Sam and snuggles up behind the user.

"I don't understand," he says. "You got the virus I have?"

"Yeah," Sam says, turning so he's on his back and looking up at Tron. He smiles and kisses the former program, then wraps an arm around Tron before turning onto his side. "Not going to work today."

That made some sense, Tron thought. Viruses in the Grid had the tendency to infect a program and then spread to any program that came in contact with the infected. Tron doesn't want to keep infecting Sam, so he rolls towards the side, pulling himself out of Sam's grasp, and makes to get off the bed.

"Get back here," Sam says as he hooks an arm around Tron's torso and pulls him back to the bed. He succeeds in making Tron fumble a bit before the former program rolls towards him.

"I'm going to keep infecting you," Tron says sadly, a hint of confusion beneath his tone.

"It doesn't work like that," Sam says as he spoons the other man. "Once you're infected, you're infected. It stops being contagious after a few days. Until then, we just have to make sure Quorra doesn't sick too."

"I see," Tron says. "You should at least call your father, though."

Sam grumbles for a response and pulls the sheet tightly over him. He's shivering, and yet he wants to kick the covers off him because he's too warm with them. It's a battle he can't win, he realizes, and so he decides to stick with having the sheet over him because Tron has his over him too.

He's almost ready to sleep when his phone rings. He groans and turns over, reaching for his phone on the bedside table. He picks it up and looks at the screen, which tells him that Alan is calling.

Sam pushes a button and puts the phone to his ear. "What," he says, trying to keep the grouchiness out of his voice, though admittedly not pulling it off well.

"Jesus Sam, are you sick too?" comes Alan's response.

"M'fine," Sam mumbles as he lies down on his back. "As long as we don't use up the antivirals too quickly, there should be enough for both of us. Or I'll just deal."

"Stay home and take care of yourself," Alan says. "I'll tell Kevin you won't be in today. Just make sure you drink lots of water, take some medicine, and use bleach wipes and take your temperature every -- "

"I've got this," Sam interrupts because he does _not_ need a lecture right now, not when all he wants to do is not move. "I'll take care of myself. And Tron."

"Quorra can stay with me for the next week," Alan says. "We don't need her -- "

"Getting sick too, I know, I know," Sam says somewhat impatiently, though he doesn't intend to. "If you think that would be best, go ahead. Might need her, though." Because if he's sick too, neither of them are going to feel like making soup for each other, and someone needs to make sure they eat.

"I'll stop by later, in a haz-mat suit," Alan says.

Sam can practically _see_ Alan grinning on the other end of the line. He groans.

"Whatever keeps you from getting sick too. Besides, my dad needs someone to make sure that he doesn't delve too deep into the internet."

There's a pause.

"Define 'too deep,'" Alan inquires.

Sam blinks. Oh no, he couldn't have...

"Porn?" he clarifies hesitantly.

"Discovered it last week," Alan says casually. "Seemed surprised by it too. In my day, we had to get pay-per-view to see -- "

"Okay, okay," Sam says hastily because this is _not_ the kind of conversation he wants to have at eight in the morning. "Just stop by later and tell my dad I said hi. I'll be sleeping. See you." He hangs up before Alan can say another word.

"What is 'porn'?" Tron asks, head tilted slightly and looking at Sam curiously.

Sam would smack his own forehead if he had the energy to do it. Instead, he puts his phone back on the table and rolls towards Tron, who is on his side and facing him.

"I'll tell you later," Sam says as he kisses Tron on the forehead gently. It's still warm to the touch, and he knows he should go get the thermometer, but he can't be bothered because everything _hurts_.

Tron returns the affectionate gesture. "Your forehead is warm."

"I know," Sam says, even though he doesn't know for certain; he can tell because his _head_ feels like it turned itself into a furnace overnight, and that's all he needs to know.

"Shouldn't you check your temperature using the thermometer?" Tron asks, concern in his tone.

"I should, but I'm not going to right now," Sam says as he lies onto his back, trying desperately to get comfortable and not succeeding in the least.

Tron frowns. "Should I go get it?"

Sam blinks and looks at Tron. "Sure, if you think you can -- " But Tron is already getting up and heading towards the bathroom. Sam watches as the former program returns a minute later with the thermometer and a damp washcloth.

Tron smiles as he crawls onto the bed and kneels to Sam's side. He puts the washcloth on Sam's forehead and holds out the thermometer for Sam.

Sam blushes and laughs softly as he opens his mouth and lets Tron slide the thermometer beneath his tongue.

"I luth you," Sam says.

"I love you too," Tron says as he strokes Sam's brown-blond locks gently.

Sam smiles and pulls Tron down to rest halfway on top of him. He makes sure the sheet is covering both of them, and then, finally comfortable, he sighs contently and closes his eyes.

Tron adjusts his position until he's comfortable too, one leg between Sam's as he settles on top of the user. He closes his eyes, still feeling miserable, but knowing that he has Sam to take care of him and he can take care of Sam.

A minute later, the thermometer beeps. The gentle tone goes unheard.


End file.
